Vehicle Check
by Martin79
Summary: Can Sheelagh Murphy find a missing Taxi Cab?
1. Reg's Rubbish

****

Vehicle Check

By

Martin79

Rating: PG (contains some swearing)

Distribution: Would be brilliant but please ask first

Main Character: Sgt Sheelagh Murphy

Background: This story is set in March 2003

Disclaimer: All characters taken from Thames Television's 'The Bill' created by Geoff McQueen. All originals copyrighted to the author.

It must be the library book, thought Alan Harris, as the Police car flew over the hill at an alarming speed scaring him half to death as he walked along Dorrell Road. The vehicle veered over towards him and screeched as it scuffed its tyres on the kerb a couple of inches away from where he was walking. Alan could smell burnt rubber in the air and wondered what the problem could be as he inched closer to it and the occupants remained motionless. It can't be the library book he thought as he remembered taking it back last Tuesday when he went out for the weekly shop but then again you could never tell with these 'Harry Potter' ones. As he borrowed it that day he recalled a young lad of fifteen being ever so upset and moaning about someone as ancient as he taking the novel despite the fact he thought himself to still be quite young in his early fifties. No it couldn't be the library book so perhaps the tax disc instead but then that was updated last month he began to recall as he quickened his step past the car expecting the officers inside to march out and arrest him for some petty crime. Perhaps it was the TV license. He thought it was up soon and made up his mind to check properly when he got home, if he ever did that is, and he knew all too well what went on in the modern Police force. Too much crime drama on TV these days he mused and it could make a chap paranoid with tales of fit-ups and brutal Police beatings. Alan pulled up the collar of his long black coat, brushing his dark grey hair down into it, tipped his plaid flat cap down so it rested on the top of his strong rimmed glasses and rushed past. Not being able to resist a quick look back he glanced at the driver who was bent double over the wheel. He was a thin bald-headed man who looked quite ill and was now being attended to by a colleague. The second man was much thinner, shiftier looking and his greasy hair could do with a good wash, Alan thought. Another idea stuck him suddenly, what if they hadn't pulled over to apprehend him? What if the driver had been shot? The gunman might still be around. Alan sped up and dashed down the first available exit away from the main road.

"Urrggh I think I'm dyin' Reggiebabe!" cried out PC Des Taviner as he rested his head against the battered steering wheel of the Area Car and clutched his aching stomach with his arms. His partner, PC Reg Hollis, was searching his pockets for something and didn't reply.

"Me gut's up and down like a rollercoaster and all you can do is play pocket billiards! Thanks a bunch!" Des continued.

"I'm looking for my pills, I left 'em in 'ere somewhere. You still shouldn't 'ave come over the hill like that. What if another car 'ad been in the way? We could've 'ad a POLAC and all because you 'ad a dodgy Madras for dinner," Reg replied paying little attention to his colleague and continued emptying his pockets out.

"Never 'ad a Madras last night"

"Well it must be something," Reg replied fishing a silver tin out of the glove box and taking out a set of pills encased in silver plastic. He carefully popped out two and handed them to Des.

"Probably that Shepherds Pie I 'ad in court yesterday, I reckon the salad must've been cooked for longer. What's this, candy 'earts?" Des moaned starring at the two pastel coloured pills in his hand.

"Stomach tablets, you have to chew then swallow. They are actually quite refreshing. Personally I swear by 'em whenever I 'ave a touch of Delhi Belly."

Des slowly moved his arms away from his stomach and threw the tablets into his mouth and gulped them down quickly.

"Tch-tch I might 'ave to bring you in for supplying now, Reg, what with your little stash there. Just say no remember!" Des chuckled after a couple of minutes.

"There's nothing wrong with being prepared, Des. Dougie Sadler was it?" Reg replied.

"What?"

" It was Dougie Sadler wasn't it? In court yesterday? The burglar that gave Tony Stamp a black eye during that Brean Lane job."

"Yeah that's 'im. Nasty little git. He was in the canteen eyein' me up, almost clumped 'im one too. Why can't they 'ave their own canteen or just 'ave some bread an' water flung into the cells," ranted Des rubbing his stomach.

"Tch Des, the prisoners have rights too, innocent until proven guilty, remember that?" Reg replied.

"Some of 'em are just guilty, I know that and you know that but its just convincing a load of insane, overpaid judges and juries, that would rather be watching their daily soaps than be in court, of it. They should just 'and power over to us."

"Like in Nazi Germany you mean?"

"Yeah like…no it's just that a once a coppers word stood for something y'know. Now it's the opposite and we 'ave to be 200% sure of the evidence, I mean watertight, or they think we're fitting the blert up," Des continued. Realising that his stomach pains had passed he started the car back up and started to drive off with a broad smile on his face.

"Ah, that's magic. Reggiebabe you're a lifesaver. Don't know what I'd do without you" he turned his head around to see an empty seat and pulled up sharp. Looking around he saw his partner on a patch of grass outside, the other side of the pavement, digging something out of a bunch of weeds.

"Oi! Empty 'ead!" he shouted out of the window. "Get back in 'ere now!"

Reg dashed back towards the car and, carrying an object with him quickly opened the door and sat back down. Des looked at the object on his partner's lap; a yellow car number-plate with the letters 'W172 SXE' emblazoned on the front.

"What is that and why 'ave you brought it into my nice clean car?" asked Des with with a heavy sigh and hint of sarcasm.

"Found it by the side of the road and thought I might as well do a check on it" Reg answered in a haughty tone, trying to defend himself and his actions.

"I 'ate to disappoint you, Reg but I think the thieves are long gone by now. Call it in if you must and then chuck the bleedin' thing out the window."

"Look it'll take five minutes to check on the computer once we get back. You never know it might lead to an unsolved crime and if it does then this is valuable evidence. Forensics aren't going to be pleased when I tell 'em I chucked it back will they."

" Well as long as it doesn't cut into my valuable drinking time I'm 'appy" relented Des.

"Hey, back to what we were on about earlier, you think they really serve porridge to the prisoners?"

"Interesting you should say that really, " began Reg. " The relationship between the food porridge and the colloquial term 'doing porridge', meaning to serve a prison sentence, actually stems from an 1830's term relating to stodgy prison food, yeah. Of course another explanation could be that when a prisoner…"

Des regretted he ever started up the topic as so often he did with Reg. Looking at his watch he noticed that they were nearly at the end of the shift and stamped his foot down hard on the accelerator to get back to the station quickly and ensure the maximum free time.

Another member of the relief who was glad to see the end of the shift was CAD Sergeant Sheelagh Murphy. She enjoyed helping the various callers with their problems, some even said her soothing Irish tones helped to calm them during their crisis, but being stuck inside on a hot day was hardly her idea of fun. Reassuring a Mrs Norris of Metal Lane that her cat would come home eventually, she signed off, rested her headset on the desk and started tidying her papers away. The last thing she wanted to see was Reg Hollis blundering in through the door with a couple of minutes to go.

" What is it, Reg? I'm shutting up shop," she asked without looking up.

"One last job please, Sarge, I just need a vehicle check" Reg replied with his usual cheeriness.

Sheelagh sighed, wiped her hair away from her eyes and retyped her ID back into the computer.

"Right, name and make?" she asked.

" Don't know" came the short, sharp reply.

"OK, colour then?"

"Don't know that either I'm afraid" he replied, sounding slightly embarrassed.

"So what have you got, PC Hollis, a steering wheel?" she replied sounding quite irate, the atmosphere was quite stifling in the CAD room.

"Just this really" Reg added calmly. He set the number-plate, which he was carrying under his arm, down on the desk, scattering the papers.

"That's it, one number-plate? I think the thieves have the edge on you there, Reg."

"I know, Sarge, that's already been pointed out. It's just that there might be something in it though, it could lead to an unsolved crime and there are millions of them out there waiting for a piece of evidence, no matter how small, to provide a breakthrough. I remember a case a few years back in which a drink can, left at the scene of the crime, led to the arrest of a triple murderer" said Reg enthusiastically

"I'm sure Lord Lucan's quaking in his boots, Reg. Not with this evidence though, it's a taxi. Registered to Canley Cabs and vanished into the wide blue yonder last month. Sergeant Boyden dealt with it at the time," Sheelagh read out the screen with an air of disbelief in her voice but yet she was intrigued by it.

"Ah well, guess that's one for the X-Files then, thanks anyway, Sarge" Reg added, still quite cheerfully, as he left the room with the plate. Sheelagh uttered a pleasantry back, re-tidied away her papers and left the room as the next shift entered with the story still sticking in her mind.

The tale of the vanishing taxi still hadn't left her consciousness as she sat at home that evening, starring blankly at the television set broadcasting another bland soap opera, with a glass of wine in her hand while Patrick washed the dishes free from traces of that night's Spaghetti Bolognaise. So many questions filled Sheelagh's mind. How could a whole car just disappear into thin air? Wasn't anyone around at the time and if so what did they see? It could just have been stolen but then why didn't the report read 'stolen' instead of 'disappeared'? Her concentration only broke when she felt a slight tickle on her leg and looking down she viewed a row of two-penny pieces placed along it.

"Is that enough to cover your thought's?"

Sheelagh's stern face broke into a sweet smile and a small giggle as she turned around to see Patrick's cheeky grin starring back at her.

" If you really want to know you'll certainly get your money's worth. It's a case at work and…" she laughed and started to explain.

"It's always a case at work, in fact I can't remember a time when it wasn't a case at work and something completely mundane like what colour to paint the walls? C'mon share, it's not like this is entertaining. That blonde girl's always mooning over somebody," he said soothingly and pointing at the television.

"I think Kerry's in love with Terry. He likes Pamela but she fancies Tom who I think is with Ellie, or Gary, I'm not too sure," replied Sheelagh.

"Oh right, I thought it was Kerry torn between Tony and Peter."

"No, Peter left ages ago. It's strange, they killed him off after only a few months," Sheelagh mused.

"Right, in that big fire was it? Or that mass cult suicide thing?" Patrick asked.

"I don't know, I've not really been paying much attention to it."

"Oh, ok then. Anyway real rough and tough police work has to be better than this. C'mon Sherlock Murphy here might even be able to help," Patrick replied with a smile, turning to face Sheelagh and looking deep in her eyes as if begging for some escape from the boredom of his day.

"Sherlock Murphy?" she replied with a huge grin waiting for the inevitable wisecrack or old joke to come flowing from his lips.

" Yup, Sherlock Murphy. Only last week I solved the mystery of the missing biscuits from the break room at work." He paused before breaking into a wide grin. "I never could resist chocolate digestives."

Sheelagh giggled, put her wineglass down and turned around to face him to start her story.

"Right, just as the shift was ending today Reg Hollis brought an old number-plate into the CAD room.

"New clampdown on parking?" he replied with a straight face.

"Patrick, be serious. We checked it out on the PNC and it didn't exist. Disappeared the file said. How could a vehicle just vanish into thin air like that? It's just stupid!" she continued with a newly stern tone in her voice.

"Hey it wasn't old sexy was it?" Patrick said after a brief pause.

"Patrick! I knew you wouldn't take this seriously!" Sheelagh turned away from him, rattled at his apparent insincerity. Patrick was fun to be around and she loved that side of him but sometimes she felt he could be a little more earnest.

"No, no I'm being serious. Sexy was a genuine number-plate, we called it that because the last three letters were S, X and E. I think it began with a W or something. Old Joe McNulty used to drive it." Patrick explained plainly.

Sheelagh turned back with a smile, of course 'Canley Cabs' Patrick's work, why didn't I think of that before, she mused. At last there was a link!

"I'll always remember it until the day I die. One of the weirdest things I've ever heard, and I've been privy to a lot of weird things, usually from drunks rolling out of the clubs at 3am," he started to explain. "Old Joe had a call, anyone of us could've taken it really, from…er…Mettle Lane I think it was, or Steerman Road, I can't remember. Anyway he picked up this bloke and took him out to that decrepit old Police station, training place thing just outside of Sun Hill. While the chap was inside doing something or other, very dodgy in the first place I mean why would he want to go there of all places especially when it was deserted, Joe went round the back to take a leak. Bit of a boozer too was old Joe so we never fully believed his account, some even said he was busy taking a nip from this ancient hip flask he used to carry about, or the supply of beer he kept hidden under his seat. Anyway when he came back round, the chap apparently told him to wait twenty minutes, the cab had vanished."

"So why wasn't it reported stolen" Sheelagh asked, even more intrigued now that the story had been fleshed out for her. She wasn't going to get this one out of her head in a hurry.

"That would be down to the wonderful representative from the Sun Hill Constabulary. Joe claimed it had disappeared, he said he never heard a thing, and his punter was furious. Jacko Green had to pick both of them up and take them home free of charge, fair made our governor's blood boil it did. Food for thought."

"Is Joe still down at Canley Cabs? Right first thing I want to do is interview him again. I'll have to find the original case notes in the morning and speak to Matt Boyden too, then…" began Sheelagh rattling off her list of things to do.

"Woah, slight hitch there I'm afraid. Joe went to live with his sister in Australia and I don't think the long arm of the law will reach that far, not for an old soak and a disappearing taxi anyway. The whole thing knocked him sideways, so it did, and he decided to call it a day. This sister had been pestering him to come over for years; the bloke was pushing 75 as it was. Got quite a sum of loot too from the firm – and still wouldn't stand a round come the leaving do," Patrick explained further.

"I'm not leaving it here, there must be an answer somewhere. Cabs don't just vanish into thin air," she said determinedly, crossing her arms.

"I think I'd better hit the hay now, good night, darling," Patrick got up and gave Sheelagh a kiss on the lips. "And keep a good eye on that tonight," he grinned, indicating towards his stationary cab outside in the driveway.

"Don't worry I'll keep it safe from the fairies," Sheelagh replied with a sweet little smile.

As she sat alone in the dimly lit front room, sipping her wine, Sheelagh's mind sifted all the facts and put them back together to uncover an even more puzzling mystery than she first thought. Could the car really have disappeared? Sheelagh was quite a fan of mystery stories, the best ones really got under her skin and gnawed away at her subconscious for days. She had always been intrigued by the unexplained and loved using her sharp mind to unravel the puzzles that were thrown up. Mystery books were her favourites, she rarely had the time for TV detectives, and she used to read many of them during her breaks when she worked as a nurse. The policemen that visited the hospital occasionally used to tell the fascinated young medic such wonderful tales of what criminals would get up to when pulling off a robbery and how they eventually got caught. Nothing could replace real life mysteries though and Sheelagh remembered all too well the countrywide search of Ireland in 1983 for the kidnapped racehorse Shergar. Aged 21 she led many groups combing the woods and countryside for the missing equine and hoped that she could find the key to the whole thing, to crack the case. A distant relative of hers, Superintendent James Murphy headed the search and taught her lot about Police work. Part of the reason she joined up was to put her mind to all these enigma's and to save the public before they ended up on her ward with a gunshot wound or some such violent injury. Initially she had relished her first CID secondment and loved seeing a reported crime through from start to finish but she soon found it to be colder than uniform work and sometimes quite dull especially if it required trawling through papers. A much harder edge to her might have seen a DS Murphy residing in Sun Hill CID but Sheelagh missed interacting with the public on a daily basis and solving some of the smaller, but still as pressing, issues. Seeing that the victims were well cared for brought her a genuine warmth, which sometimes annoyed the suits who wanted her to get on with things and into the pub on time, and kept her in uniform. Sheelagh was determined to solve the puzzle and a flow chart was already developing in her mind as to how to go about it.


	2. Traffic

Sheelagh's mind buzzed with possibilities and ideas as she flung open the doors to Sun Hill Police Station the next morning. Quickly changing into her crisp, clean and immaculately pressed uniform, decorated with shiny Sergeant's stripes that gleamed in the artificial light; she marched out of the locker room. Straightening her cravat she headed for the coffee machine in the hallway to cure her thirst before hunting down Matt Boyden and once more taking up her post in the CAD room. The haste made her fumble with her change and spill it over the floor. Picking up the various coins she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a hand resting on the machine.

"Mornin' all"

The low voice and Liverpudlian drawl of Des Taviner rung in Sheelagh's ears as she turned around to see the bold Constable's smiling face.

"What are you doing here, PC Taviner? Shouldn't you be on Parade?" she asked sternly, putting a pound coin into the machine and pressing the appropriate code for a cup of hot coffee.

"Just thought I'd grab something hot an' sweet before goin' out for the day. Parade wasn't much, keep 'em peeled for a bunch of men in striped jumpers with bags marked 'SWAG'" he said smoothly with a grin.

"Des, if I…agh how did that happen!" she cried as her change flew from the machine and onto the floor. Des capped his hand over the change hole quickly as Sheelagh bent down to pick up her money for a second time that morning.

"Bloody machines. The little plastic cover thing came off yesterday but if you're quick with your 'ands, like I am, you can get the most of it" explained Des.

Sheelagh stood upright, counting her money, and giving Des a stern look. His pursuit of her had been sweet at first but now it had reached the annoying phase. If it carried on any longer she could see herself going to the Inspector even though she hated to rock the boat in her first couple of months. Des was a popular member of the relief as well as a key figure in the fire tragedy playing a pivotal role in bringing those responsible to justice. Getting him fired would bring her no brownie points or popularity with the relief. Perhaps she ought to grin and bear it for a while longer and give him time to get bored of chasing her.

"Here you go, a pretty penny for a pretty lady" Des said holding up a shiny one pence piece.

"Des if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times I'm not in the market, in fact I'm quite a few miles from it, I'm very happily married to a wonderful man. Where's your other half anyway? Shouldn't you and Reg be going out to play about now?" she took the penny from his fingers with a delicate snatch and fixed a glare that told him she wasn't in the mood anymore.

"Truth is, Sarge, I'd much rather talk to you than Boyden" he explained with his usual drawl.

"Reg is in with Matt? Why? What's he done?" she asked, having a suspicion that Reg's reason might be the same one she was about to make a beeline for custody for. Perhaps Reg had the same idea about following up the number-plate.

"Somethin' about that piece o' crap he dug up yesterday. Don't see the point meself," Des replied.

"I'm surprised, I thought it was a wonderful piece of initiative on Reg's part, not many officers in this station have his instincts. I'm shocked a seasoned PC like you didn't see the potential in it. Where are they anyway?"

"Custody, hey and I taught him…everything he…knows…" Des shouted after her but Sheelagh was ahead of him and on her way into the Custody Suite.

Rounding the corner she noticed Matthew Boyden standing behind the vast, blocky blue custody desk filling out a form and looking extremely bored. Reg Hollis stood the other side of the desk, upright and fully gelled as usual, he seemed to be almost pleading for something while Matt hardly looked up from his form.

"Just a couple of hours will do, Sarge. I really want to chase this up," Reg was asking.

"No means no, Reg. We're understaffed enough today as it is with out you trying to scare up the owners of a bit of rubbish, now 'oppit!" replied Matt.

"Problems Matt?" asked Sheelagh, walking up to the desk and catching Des out of the corner of her eye arriving behind clutching a cup of coffee.

"Only Reg and unfortunately it's incurable," he replied

"Sarge, you, er, forgot your coffee," Des said ambling up to the three of them.

"I've already got one. You saw me buy it not five minutes ago," Sheelagh snapped back at him.

"Must've dropped 'alf of it runnin' down the corridor," Des tried to explain.

"I'm not putting up with this now get out of here the both of yous. C'mon chop chop!" she replied ushering Des and Reg out of the area.

"Leave the coffee, Des. I'm quite parched," ordered Matt with a half smile. Des muttered something, slammed the cup down on the desk ensuring most of the contents spilled out, and stormed out of the door. Sheelagh stopped Reg on his way out.

"Sarge, can't you 'ave a word with 'im. You saw what the PNC said and I really want to follow this up," he began.

"Don't worry I intend to do everything I can about it. This story is much more intriguing than we first thought, I'll fill you in later but for now just get on patrol and try to soothe the savage Taviner. His ego's just been bruised a bit," she explained.

"Thanks, Sarge" Reg replied and left the Custody Suite.

"Thank God 'e's gone," grumbled Matt. " If I hear one more person wittering on about that stupid number-plate I'll lock 'em up!"

"Actually" said Sheelagh, blushing slightly with embarrassment, "I do need to ask a couple of things about that evening."

"No you as well!" Matt sighed. " Look it was very late, too late for cock and bull stories about vanishing taxi cabs and the stupid old soaks that drive 'em, I took a few statements from the driver, the punter and some of the cab office goons and handed the lot over to Traffic. Good riddance too if you ask me!"

"Did they find out anything new? Have you heard back from them lately?" she asked.

"Nope, you know what they're like, I don't reckon I'm likely to either. They probably just chucked the file in the bin like we should've done," he grumbled. " What's your interest in it anyway? This is only another one of Reg's follies like the time he once had half the station out looking for a lost cat he suspected of swallowing a gold wedding ring!"

Sheelagh giggled slightly. " What happened?"

"Tony Stamp managed to catch the flea ridden thing after four hours of chasing it around Canley Fields, marched it to the nearest vets and had it X-rayed. Nothing in there whatsoever. The owner found it down the side of 'er sofa conveniently after we brought Tiddles back!"

Sheelagh wiped a tear of laughter away from her eye and tried to reply through the giggles.

"I think it's just worth following up. I was talking to Patrick last night and he said the fare was taken to a derelict building in the middle of nowhere, has to be a bit dodgy, I mean you must've thought it odd at the time?" she asked.

"Yeah, well" he muttered " It was near the end of the shift and I had a date in a couple of hours so I rushed it through."

" Needed help with her homework did she?" Sheelagh added sternly.

"I just didn't think it had legs. The bloke said he was working on restoring it and had left some documents on the site, didn't have any reason to doubt 'im so I left it. Look, Traffic are looking into it now and if there was anything that smelt funny they would've dealt with it so why don't you go and bother them if you're so worried about it!" Matt sounded exactly as disinterested with the case as he appeared to be, of course having repeated the whole thing to Reg about ten minutes earlier didn't help.

"I suppose that's the next thing on my list" admitted Sheelagh reluctantly. "I can just see myself facing a battle royale to even get my foot in the door over there."

"Yeah, it'd be easier getting management to buy a round" he agreed.

"Couldn't you phone them for me? You were the officer in charge so couldn't you just check up?" she asked.

"No, they'd think I was just poking my nose in and fob me off with some excuse. Anyway as I said they've probably chucked the lot in the tip!" he replied.

"They might respond if we get the Super onto it or if one of their own talked to them? Do you know anybody in Traffic? Can't say I've ever come across one I'd care to spend more than five minutes with?"

"Slept with a Sergeant about five years back but we're…er…not exactly on the best of terms" he admitted. Sheelagh rolled her eyes and gave him an 'oh, men!' look.

"Hang on a minute, Gemma Osbourne used to be in Traffic didn't she? You could get 'er to pull some strings," Matt suggested.

"Was she? That would be great, do you know where she's posted today?" asked Sheelagh with a glint in her eye, her face lighting up once more with new hope and possibilities.

"At present she is moppin' up Cell number eight. Mr Murray liked his breakfast so much he brought it back up to enjoy it all over again," Matt answered with a half smile.

"Gemma!" he shouted.

" Yes, Sarge?" the flame red hair and cheeky smile of PC Gemma Osbourne appeared around the corner of the door to the cellblock. Putting the mop she was holding into a bucket, she slid it over to the side, and wiped her hands on a nearby towel.

"You can have a break now. Ten minutes and no more, ok! Oh, and Sergeant Murphy wants to ask a _personal_ favour," Matt ordered bluntly with another smirk in his colleague's direction.

"Mmm, look's like a table for two then, Sarge" replied Gemma cheekily, in her distinctive Mancunian accent, bounding out the door and in the direction of the canteen.

"Take this with you too, Reg left it behind," he added, picking the number-plate up off the desk and sliding it along to Sheelagh. "Have a nice chat now."

Sheelagh gave the still smirking Matt a glare although he wasn't really paying attention. She felt slightly embarrassed at her fellow Sergeant's bluntness as she now faced an uncomfortable conversation with Gemma and then the Inspector, hoping to be allowed to follow up on the case. When she was sure Matt was engrossed back in his form she tucked the plate under the desk at the far end and headed towards the canteen.

Gemma Osbourne indeed still had connections in Traffic and was happy to make a phone call to her old Inspector and arrange for Sheelagh to have a meeting about the case to discuss any new information. There wasn't actually any new data but Sheelagh was quite confident that she could bluff for long enough to see how far Traffic had progressed with it. Convincing Inspector Gold to let her spend time following it up, the whole case would be a dead end according to her, especially with the shift low on personnel due to a flu bug, would be tricky and even Sheelagh had some doubts it would lead to an arrest. She was sure that it wouldn't be given the time of day but Sheelagh was shrewd though and offered to do some overtime and find cover for the CAD room in exchange for her brief excursion. The Inspector reluctantly agreed but not before she had enjoyed a laugh at the whole thing. On the whole though she trusted Sheelagh's judgement and knew that she would be able to draw a line under it if the case proved to be the non-starter that everyone seemed to think it was. On her way out she bumped into Sergeant Tyler, a short cockney man in his early thirties who often wandered around the station in a state of worry, just finishing his shift and cajoled him into taking CAD for a couple of hours. His only price was that of a pint of bitter waiting for him in the bar of The Elcott Arms when his services were no longer required. Changing back into her civvies, a smart black trouser suit with a partially frilled white blouse and her usual cream overcoat, she headed for the yard and drove into the heart of London.

Sheelagh felt a little claustrophobic in the city, with its large chunky buildings and different styles, which ranged from 500 years up until last week in age, a mix that settled with different people in different ways. Sun Hill was the most urban environment Sheelagh had ever worked in and that unsettled her sometimes. She walked into a plush office block, certainly not the sort of place she had expected to take the meeting in. Somehow she had a notion it would be something like a large prefab on the hard shoulder of the M25. A pretty, blonde twenty-something secretary wearing a similar suit to Sheelagh's met her at the door and led her towards a waiting area where she would spend the next half hour while the Inspector was in a meeting. Gemma had managed to get her Sergeant ten minutes in-between meetings to see him but she was certain it would be more than enough time to secure access to the files. As she waited she kept one eye on the time, not wanting to spend too much time away from the station, even though she had permission to be there for a while yet.

The Inspector entered the room in a hurry, carrying a couple of modest folders, bustled his way past Sheelagh and made a beeline for his office. He was quite tall and thin as a rake with sandy coloured hair, balding slightly, his uniform was immaculately clean and pressed with every button and pip dazzling everyone he shot past. All of which suggested to Sheelagh that he was either married or a confirmed bachelor who took a lot of pride in his appearance. In his younger days this man would probably have been an ideal poster boy for the Metropolitan Police and the sort of person Sheelagh could have fallen quite hard for if she wasn't already married. The secretary approached him, handed him a blue file and whispered something in his ear, presumably about his visitor, causing him to give quite a noticeable sigh and drop his broad shoulders down a notch. The man looked over in Sheelagh's direction and sauntered over towards her with one hand outstretched.

"Sergeant Murphy, I presume?" he asked in a distinctive Scottish accent.

"Yes, sir" answered Sheelagh standing up and feeling quite tense.

"Hello I'm Inspector Alastair Greig. I can only spare you a few minutes I'm afraid, you've caught me on quite a busy day and I have a budget meeting soon so if you would care to follow me we can sort this out," he said curtly with a slight smile. Sheelagh followed him into his office where they both took seats. Looking around she noticed it was quite sparse, the desk was fairly free of clutter with only the essentials taking up space, although that was probably a result of his neatness. The grey walls were adorned with the obligatory portrait of The Queen as well as a group photo of a bunch of fresh faced young PC's which was taken over 20 years ago. Hardly any other personal effects seemed to feature amongst the files and folders apart from a couple of photos of various groups of friends, no family though, featuring the Inspector but years younger (in one she was sure she spotted a young Jim Carver). The oddest feature though was a shiny clarinet, lying atop a stand, on a table at the side. The secretary came in, with alarming quickness, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and a plate of biscuits.

" I gather you're attached to Sun Hill, Sergeant?" Alastair asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Call me Sheelagh, sir and yes I've been there for over a month now. Just starting to settle in really at the moment," Sheelagh answered with a smile, starting to relax. At first he seemed cold but she could see he was trying to make small talk in an effort to put her at ease.

"I served ten years over there in the CID as a Detective Sergeant, before my tenure came up five years ago, of course. One of the happiest times of my life which I suppose says something about me."

"Really, sir. They seem like a really solid team although I bet that not much has changed since your day," she added.

"No, probably not. I bet old Bob Cryer's still knocking about, running the relief ragged, eh?" he asked.

" I don't know him, sorry. I think he retired a couple of years ago."

"Retired? Really? That's a surprise I would've expected the old war-horse to still be knocking around come judgement day, clinging to one of the desks as the flames sprung up," he chuckled slightly. "What about Chris Deakin, one of my old DI's?"

"Sorry, never heard of him," she added, starting to feel a little embarrassed for both of them.

"Ah yes, the whole Beech affair I suppose, yes I forgot, terrible business that. Couldn't help feeling a little guilty about that myself, I mean I did work with the man for over three years. How about Jim Carver, I bet he's a DCI by now?" he said, fumbling a bit.

"Ah, now him I do know. Still a PC I'm afraid, in our CSU," she added with a smile.

"Really? Bright light in CID back in my day like Liz Rawton and Rod Skase but I don't suppose either of those are still around too. How's Gemma getting along?"

" Very well, actually. She's a really good Area Car driver and an effective beat PC. Both the Inspector and the Superintendent have earmarked her for promotion," Sheelagh chatted away, relieved that there was an officer she could now talk about.

"Sorry to lose her, we had quite a good working relationship. She spent a lot of time over here, I think she was a close friend of Jenny's, my secretary, I sometimes wondered how she managed to keep up her impressive record. Ah, Dave Quinnan, he must still be about!"

"I've heard of Dave Quinnan, I think he went over to SO10. Before my time I'm afraid."

"Well, I shouldn't keep going on about the old days like this, we both have things to be getting on with. Now I believe this is what you wanted to see," he said, holding up a blue file that was lying on the desk. "Sun Hill's very own Tale of the Unexpected, with the minimum of information collected by Matthew Boyden, someone I see who is definitely still alive and skiving as much as ever."

Alastair passed it over to Sheelagh, who wanted to start rifling through it immediately, but kept it to a restrained peek at the amount of papers inside.

" Thank you, sir. Do you know I honestly thought I was going to have to put up a fight to get this," she added, feeling quite elated.

"If you can bring anything new to light then I'll be glad to help. PC Gardiner and PC Wilkins tried their best but couldn't garner much else than what's contained and if you want to interview them just let me know and I'll set something up. I'll be honest, Sheelagh this is another one of those thorn-in-the-side cases that will end up lying dormant in the vaults somewhere so if I can get it closed then I'll be happy. Obviously I can't let it leave the building but you can use one of the spare offices for as long as you require and any photocopying you need done just ask Jenny," Alastair replied with a stern but warm tone of voice. Sheelagh thanked him again; he took another file off the desk and followed her out.

Sheelagh couldn't help but stare at the well-furnished corridors as she was led down the hallway by Jenny and into an empty office. She could really see herself working in a place like this one day and wished that Sun Hill was half as inviting, perhaps one day when she had enough of the sharp end and fancied a nice cushy desk job, she thought to herself. The office itself was much nicer than any back at the station too; the walls were clean for a start. A large desk stood in the centre with a comfy looking padded chair sitting behind it. Tastefully decorated in cream and brown, the walls were enhanced by a couple of bland watercolours depicting the countryside. Sheelagh felt quite self-conscious, as she sat in the comfy chair and started to look through the file, like an intruder or perhaps a squatter was more the word she was looking for. The folder was not overloaded with papers just Matt Boyden's original reports plus some statements and additional reports by Traffic's investigators. These statements both made curious reading as the case was approached from two very different viewpoints. PC Wilkins had filed a standard statement of the facts and his own very basic ideas, the car having been stolen while the driver was away, but PC Gardiner clearly had a thing for conspiracy theories and his report, written over many more pages than his colleague's and with great relish, all but concluded that UFO's stole the cab. Of course it was dressed up with long words and supposition but Sheelagh could see through it, ridiculous of course – the fare to Venus must cost a bomb but at least Patrick could retire on the proceeds, she thought, smiling to herself. One portion of the report even noted that the vehicle could have been 'taken by beings of unknown origin' leaving room to tender almost any answer to the mystery. Both officers seemed to represent the extremities of the case; Wilkins dismissed it as a waste of time and it was obvious he couldn't wait to finish up and get to the pub on time. Gardiner on the other hand offered every paranoid and supernatural theory under the sun, perhaps in an effort to make one stick. He would probably be right at home talking to Reg Hollis; perhaps they even belonged to the same model train club. Sheelagh liked to put herself in-between the two, she stuck fast to the facts and although she wasn't quite a star child the case through up some interesting questions. Even her logical mind began to wonder whether something otherworldly could've been responsible although the idea of a taxicab being whisked away by the fairies still seemed ludicrous. Then again only the number-plate was found so perhaps the vehicle vanished leaving only its plate, like the Delorean car in the Back to the Future movies. It will probably turn up in the 1950's next to a couple of Teddy Boys.

Sheelagh clutched her head in her hands: UFO's? Fairies? Time travelling Hackney carriages? It was all getting too much for her. One of the crystal clear things was the fact that no new information had come to light, just wild speculation, apart from one small detail. Upon visiting the crime scene to try and scrounge up any shreds of forensics, or clues of any kind, Wilkins had disappeared from Gardiner's earshot for a while. He had started to walk around the building but was unable to hear Gardiner, apparently testing the area with a radiation detector or some other kind of contraption, call for help when he spotted a man running through the woods. The man turned out to be a harmless local jogging nut but if Wilkins had been unable to hear his partners cry then perhaps Joe McNulty had wandered around the same corner and been incapable of hearing his car being driven away. The two officers saw no merit in it whatsoever and the only reason it was noted was PC Gardiner's fastidiousness in his reports noting not just his wild theories but his partner's lack of enthusiasm. Patrick had told her that Joe was nearly 75 when he retired and if a fit, young PC couldn't hear from a certain spot, provided he wasn't faking it, then a 75-year-old, especially an old drunk like Joe, would be even worse. Sheelagh made up her mind to take a visit to the old training centre herself even though it was a good few miles out of Sun Hill. There might also be some clues around Dorrell road, the place where Reg had found the plate in the first place, she hadn't thought of going back as all the action took place around the training building but it shouldn't be ruled out. Sheelagh tidied the papers back into the file, having made several notes from the thin material in her pocket book, and walked out of the room with renewed determination.


	3. The Canley Police Training Centre

The Canley Police Training Centre (or The Canned Pigs Factory as some of the local jokers named it) was built in 1949 to train up the influx of new recruits that wanted to join the Metropolitan Police Force in the Canley area. It was also a Home Office reaction to the rising crime rates, especially looting, in London. The Second World War had been over for four years and many de-mobbed squaddies saw the Met as a kind of less disciplined version of the army they had grown to love but yet kept them away from their relatives and loved ones. Some liked, and indeed missed, Army life and joined back up after a couple of years but others wanted to be back home once again although they had enjoyed the power and respect the uniform brought as well as a new found feeling of wanting to help keep order. They had fought back the Nazi's and defeated them in Europe and now they wanted to clean up their own little part of the world. Ten years later though recruitment had dropped so the Home Office decided to turn it into the Trafford Way Police Station and updated it to the full with the latest crime-fighting equipment the early 1960's had to offer as well as keeping some of the training facilities. The station was home to many arrests and strange events in its three decades of history. The Kray twins were arrested once and brought in on charges of racketeering although nothing was ever proven. Film and TV stars that had fallen from grace also passed through its doors although these visits were usually hushed up or the arresting officers looked the other way if an autograph or a quick meeting with the wife was offered. Several well known villains also fell foul of the Trafford Way CID team upon its opening in 1962. The station's demise began in 1985 when a gas leak in the canteen blew away part of the Custody area killing several officers. Restoration and renovation was begun until a gang of local villains banded together and planned to make sure it never re-opened its doors and launched a series of arson attacks on the station which took out the CID offices, a couple of interview rooms and created more bodies. When the neighbouring Sun Hill Police Station was renovated in 1990 the Home Office made the decision to close Trafford Way, which would've required the harder work as it was very badly damaged, rather than have two whopping repair bills and several un-stationed officers to contend with. The neighbouring stations, Barton Street and Sun Hill could handle the extra work and staff it was decided. The last person to be arrested and charged at the nick was a habitual arsonist who was believed to have been part of the syndicate that launched the attacks although the others were never named. The station lay crumbling and dilapidated for over ten years after several attempts by the council to sell the land off to various Supermarket chains. The last Police officer to pass through the doorway was Superintendent Raymond Francis as he locked up the door for the last time, with a tear in his eye, on July 31st 1991 – that was until Sergeant Sheelagh Murphy paid a visit.

Sheelagh trod carefully through the debris, shining her torch into the darkness and carefully clutching the small gold cross around her neck. The structure still held up, but only barely and she half expected a ghost or some other creature of the night to come flying at her. The building was much larger than Sun Hill and more encapsulated in its time as the architecture told. The living quarters and large parade ground were the eldest but yet the least affected by the fire while the main station area was virtually cut off from the rest and it was here that Sheelagh started her search. Most of the charred wreckage still bore some similarity to its functions and she recognised many different rooms such as the cells, interview rooms and canteen. Getting back to Sun Hill early she had put in enough overtime to appease Inspector Gold and had left with a sense of restlessness. Patrick was working late so to save herself from going back to an empty house and to satisfy her curiosity she drove up to Trafford Way although at this moment in time her empty house in Allenshaw Avenue was looking more inviting. Why would anyone book a cab to here of all places? Maybe if the customer had been truly renovating the place then it would have been understandable but a search of the PNC and a look into the records during her break had revealed a false name, false address and no such redesigning scheme. If only Matt Boyden had bothered doing his homework then maybe it wouldn't be so bad but now she felt that any trace of any clues were long gone. Who knows what the man was doing up here? Then again it was the perfect place to meet someone if you didn't want anybody to know. Hearing a crunch beneath her foot Sheelagh reluctantly shone the torch onto the floor dreading what would be down there, she would always feel a pang of guilt if she crushed an insect by accident. The crunch had been made by a shard of glass from one of the cracked windows but she could now see that the floor was covered in some sort of white powder, it looked like a bag of flour had been dropped on it, and it was damp so it had been there quite a while. Sheelagh knelt down and scooped some of it up in her hand to examine it more closely.

It looked like Cocaine.

Taking an evidence pocket from her handbag, she had grabbed some on her way out in case they came in useful, she bagged some of the powder up, put it back in her bag and made a note in her pocket book. At last she had a motive, a drug deal must have taken place here at some point, either that or the goodbye party for the Station had been quite a wild time. Now did the man come here to buy or sell?

Retracing her steps back out of the building she decided to make a quick search of the perimeter. Sheelagh started to walk across a large patch of grass, still partially singed as no-one had made an effort to re-grow it, and realised the missing taxi must have stood about there. Eager to test her theory she strode around the corner, slipped on a patch of mud and skidded into a ditch. Her head was spinning around, as she lay twisted in the mud trying to collect her thoughts. Various memories and incidents from her life replayed themselves instantly in her mind. Reaching out she tried to find something solid to grab onto but felt a couple of empty beer bottles instead. Sheelagh sat up, grabbed onto a tree root, pulled herself up onto her feet and started to wipe the muck away, promising herself a hot bath and a bottle of wine when she got home. Standing on the same tree root she managed to yank a branch down from the nearby Oak and pull herself out. Relieved to be free, and still quite shaken up after the fall, she now tried to make herself more presentable by tidying her hair up, brushing the muck off, retrieving her bag and trying to salvage her beige coat. When she finally looked over the horizon she caught sight of a sleek, silver Jaguar parked on the same patch of grass she had just walked across. Had she been knocked out cold in the ditch? Feeling her head there wasn't any traces of blood or any kind of bump at all so if she didn't hear the car draw up then it's possible that Joe McNulty didn't hear his cab being driven away. That would also explain the beer bottles, Joe must have sneaked away into the dip to have a quick drink as his passenger attended to his business. Sheelagh felt so excited at the breakthrough, grinning from ear to ear, that she almost forgot about the occupants of the Jaguar, who they might be and whether they were watching her at that very moment.

The car was deserted but had arrived only recently, the smell of petrol fumes was still ripe in the air and Sheelagh could feel the heat radiating from it as she touched the bonnet. Luckily she had left her own car parked outside the Supermarket, half a mile away, in case anybody reported seeing it and a patrol was sent to investigate. It wasn't worth the Inspector knowing if she just wanted a quick snoop around and then got some shopping. All that would have to change now as she glanced around quickly convinced that the driver or occupants could be watching her. A voice in the dark made her blood run cold as she froze in her steps. It was only a sneeze but a mumbled apology, coming soon afterwards, confirmed that at least two people were about somewhere. Sheelagh dove behind the car for cover and made a dash for the side of the building. It was now she realised that the voices were definitely coming from inside. Peering in through one of the windows, or what was left of it, she saw the figures of two men standing in what was probably once the station canteen. The window was cracked quite severely and was covered with grime so Sheelagh's vision was obscured. Squinting her eyes and trying to see through the dirt she could just make out the silhouettes of two figures. Both were males, one was standing upright looking like he was waiting for someone, maybe even a group, the other was hunched over slightly. The hunched man was in his early twenties, quite tall and thin with a short haircut. He wore jeans and trainers and was swamped by a large warm looking navy blue coat. The second was older, perhaps late fifties, and a lot more relaxed especially with a medium sized cigar poking out of his mouth and holding a smart black suitcase. His clothes were smarter and lot older, a black suit and light blue tie covered with a long green coat which brushed against his thinning grey hair. Luckily for Sheelagh though the cracks that obscured her vision were also large enough to enable her to hear them.

"Can't I sit down now?" the younger man was asking, covering his mouth with a tissue.

" No! I told ya, no touchin' anythin'" the older man said in a broad cockney accent.

"Don't think the cops are gonna nick me from me arse print, dad!" replied the younger man in a softer accent. It was obvious he had some sort of flu and wasn't very happy about being dragged away from his warm bed. Part of Sheelagh wanted to nurse him, she knew the signs having dealt with flu more times than she cared to remember, but her common sense told her that it was better to stay still with one hand on her mobile phone.

"They can ID you from virtually anythin' these days, boy, DNA you see. Old mate of mine from 'ackney 'ad 'is boy sent down a few months ago by the ear-print they found on the window of this old dear's 'ouse 'e done over. Makes a bloke paranoid after a time and it was bad enough you sneezed that bag of Charlie Chalk all over the shop the last time, I've 'ad to reschedule everythin'. Just you keep those tissues in your pockets, vital evidence them, it's just as bad as havin' your dabs smeared over the entire place!" his father complained.

"Yeah, well, feel like shit don't I! What you wanna drag me out 'ere for. Meet this bloke on your own can't you or couldn't you 'ave found a place more inviting than this? Why couldn't it be somewhere warm like the pub?" the son replied sniffing.

"Oi! I've told you before, I'm not gonna be 'ere always and I want you to learn this sort of stuff for yourself. Plus you got them O-levels or whatever they call 'em these days and I'm proud of that, could do with some proper grey matter after all these years. Thinkin' on our feet is what it's all about in this game. Two of us is double the power, makin' sure we aren't tucked up!"

"Wish I was tucked up, nice warm bed" moaned the son.

"As for the place, sentimental reasons really, I was nicked 'ere once, back in the day when I was your age. I'm an old romantic at hear, see, suppose it's my way of sticking two fingers up at this old dump," he took another drag of his cigar. "Old DI Thornley, the stuck-up git, would turn in 'is grave if 'e knew 'is old nick was being used to deal. Pompous prat 'e was, you should've seen 'is face when I got sent down, never forget it, smug and 'orrible. Glad they torched the place I was."

"You didn't do it did you? I know Mickey 'arris was in on it."

"Ask me know questions and I'll tell you no lies," smiled the old man, stubbing his cigar out on one of the old desks. "I'll never forget what Thornley's face looked like _that_ night either!"

"If you're so worried about then how come you're puttin' that out in here, they can get DNA from your fag type too y'know, dad" said the son grumpily.

"Don't think I'm gonna bring the good stuff up to this 'ole do ya, no, bought some cheap from Tone after 'e came back from Calais the other week. Very 'ard to prove," the father replied throwing the stubbed cigar end onto the floor and grinding it into the ground with his foot. "There, job done!"

"When's this bloke getting 'ere anyway," asked the son, sniffing.

"Stop worryin', shouldn't be too long now. I said eight and e' will be 'ere by eight if e' knows what's good for 'im. Can you imagine the Muppet taking a cab up 'ere last time?" shouted the father.

Sheelagh crouched by the wall for another half an hour, not knowing whether it was holding her up or the other way around, it seemed like it was going to fall apart if the young man sneezed too hard. As a blue Lexus drew up beside the Jaguar she frantically dialled Sun Hill and arranged for some back up, delayed by about twenty minutes, hoping that the whole relief wouldn't storm the place before the deal was done. A man got out of the car carrying a brown briefcase and a nervous look. Straightening his tire he pushed open the door and entered the building, looking around him to double-check every nook and cranny. The man was quite tall with neat brown hair and a thin face, half covered by a pair of glasses; he wore a plain black suit with a red tie. Sheelagh thought he must be in business, the suit look comfortable and hand-made, it looked like his usual wear and not that it had been forced upon him like some dealers that liked to kid themselves they were important people when they met their suppliers. The guy might work in an office block and supply his colleagues with enough stuff to stave off their boring little lives for a few hours and in return he gets to be the toast of the office, the cool guy with the 'dodgy' contacts. In front of his friends he was probably all front but right now he was stripped down to his real self, in a state of fear and unfamiliarity. Through the window Sheelagh clearly saw the three men dealing, well, as clear as she could see it past the grime, filth and cracks.

As the three stood around arguing the whole room flashed bright blue and Sheelagh's blood froze as she turned around to see the Area Car charging up the hill at full speed with its sirens piercing the air and its lights flooding the ground. Sheelagh's face was lit up with horror, she had already given orders out during her phone-call to wait at least another ten minutes to ensure that the deal was done and she had enough evidence. The men inside the building certainly noticed all the commotion outside and made every effort to leave by any conceivable exit. Slamming open the car door and striding out into the night air, like Judge Dredd with a hangover, was Des Taviner, asp snapped into place, and with a mean look on his face he ran into the building shouting out Sheelagh's name. Reg Hollis locked his door and ambled along after his partner. The businessman ran straight out the front and unwittingly into Des who snapped the asp across his neck.

"Where are you goin' 'otshot?" Des sneered.

"I'm-I'm afraid there has been a mistake, if, if I could just get to my car the blue Lexus with the smart interior over by the tree then I could explain in full," the man stuttered.

"Well 'I'm afraid' we are going to 'ave to 'old you for a while in a nice little ground floor penthouse back at the nick. Very spacious it is, yeah, even got bars across the window's to keep the bugs out!" replied Des.

"I warn you my-my father's a good friend of Chief Inspector Derek Conway. I-I…this could get you in a lot of t-trouble."

"Derek Conway"

"Yes I believe they had dinner together just last week. Now you let me go and I'll make sure he never gets to hear of any of this," the man sounded more confident.

"REG! Get this piece of filth out of me sight!" Des shouted, striking the man with his baton and herding the prisoner over to his waiting partner.

" What's the charge, Des? I told you we should've waited before coming up 'ere" grumbled Reg as he ushered the prisoner into the car.

"I dunno, wearing last season's suit I suppose, whatever! SHEELAGH!" Des screeched storming into the building.

" You shouldn't 'ave said that really," Reg said to the prisoner. "Chief Inspector Conway sadly passed away last year, terrible tragedy it was, of course I knew it was going to 'appen, I'm psychic you see. Saying that only wound Des up further I'm afraid, quite cut up about it 'e was, yeah, very sensitive bloke on the inside y'know."

Sheelagh sighed, hearing the various crashes and bangs now coming from inside the building, and turned her attention to the son trying to wriggle out of another window, a couple down from the one she was looking through. She waited until he was almost through then ran up and twisted his arm behind his back.

"I am arresting you for intent to supply a Class A drug. You do not have to say anything but what you do say will be taken down and used in evidence against you," she said sternly.

" I'm not saying nothing to you!" he replied between sniffs.

"Tell that to your nose," added Sheelagh. " I can't stand the sound of all that sniffing, and take these with you!" She took a handful of tissues from her bag, wiped his nose with one, and then stuffed them in his pocket. As she marched him towards the front of the building she noticed that two more cars had now arrived and all three criminals had been rounded up. The father having been as he tried to dash out through the back.

"That the lot the, Sarge?" asked Reg.

"Yes Reg, all three, dealing in Class A drugs. Cuff this one would you please?" she said handing her prisoner over.

"What were you doing up 'ere anyway? You look filthy?" he asked.

"Well I…" Sheelagh began.

"Anyone for a party back at my place?" smiled Des as he emerged from the building with two briefcases; one of drugs the other of money. "You OK, Sarge? You look like you've been mud wrestling with a 'ippo. I love a girl not afraid to get 'er 'ands dirty."

"I fell over, Des that's all."

"Hey, whatever you get up to outside the nick is no concern of mine. As long as I'm invited next time" he grinned.

Reg saw the van pull up and helped to load the three complaining prisoners inside it. They were all still arguing and trying to plead their cases before they had even got back to the station. Some things never changed, everyone was innocent and no one was guilty, as ever, the same things would be rehashed at least three times over the next day or so. He observed Sergeant Murphy, looking quite tired, sitting side saddle in the area car, bagging up some evidence. Even Des seemed oddly quiet, starring up at the charred building, looking mournful and full of regret. Once more, he thought to himself, it would fall to him to hold the relief together and keep everyone's spirits up.


	4. The Long Ride Back

Sheelagh finished what she was doing then lay her head back against the seat and starred up at the ceiling trying to collect her thoughts.

"Ready for the off then, Sarge?" asked Des parking himself in the driver's seat, closing the door with a noisy clunk and starting the engine up.

"Thanks Des, but my own car is just a short walk down the hill," she replied impatiently.

"You wanna get back to the nick before the scum don't ya? I can always run you back later once they're all tucked up, it's no trouble at all," Des retorted.

"I suppose so," Sheelagh sighed, she just wanted to get it all over and done with and get back home. "Shouldn't we wait for Reg?" she asked, noticing Des's partner in the rear view mirror standing next to Nick Klein looking surprised and quite forlorn as they started to drive away.

"He's quite a gent is our Reg and he insisted on giving up his seat to a lady. 'I don't care, Des' he told me 'as long as the lovely Sergeant Murphy arrives in comfort and style I don't care if I 'ave to walk the length and breadth of Canley High road to get back it'll be worth it' he said. He's a forty-two carat treasure that man," he added with a smile.

"What about the back seat?"

"He's a very tall lad, you can't expect 'im to squash into that 'ole. It'll just be the two of us so it looks like you've got the mean machine all to yourself…and the car too," he replied with a grin.

"Is this another one of you pathetic attempts to chat me up, PC Taviner? Might I remind you for yet another time that I am a happily – very happily – married woman and I doubt that even Brad Pitt himself could convince me to break the Seventh Commandment let alone you!" replied Sheelagh harshly. "Actually shouldn't your shift have finished hours ago?"

"Me and Reggiebabe decided to stay on for a bit of overtime, help out 'B' relief and get a bit extra beer money. Glad I did now, gave me a chance to ride in on me white 'orse and save the day. Why were you up there at this time anyway?"

"White horse! I didn't need rescuing thank you very much and I might've got a better result if you hadn't shown up earlier than I had specified and stormed in like the SAS!" she replied curtly.

"I don't know, I think there are certain things I share with a white 'orse…"

"Aarrrgh! Des can you stop doing this! Can we just talk about something, _anything_, else please? Tell me, tell me why you decided to join the Police?" Sheelagh pleaded.

"Bit of an old chestnut, isn't it?"

"Just…tell me."

"Ok, well growing up where I did it would've been so easy to fall into crime. It was rife, our estate was riddled with it, pouring out of every quarter and you were either with the gangs or against them. Im not sayin' I never 'ad my close shaves but I still stayed on the right side for the most of it. As I watched my family and friends become either victims of crime or seduced by it, easy money and all that, I really wanted to do something about it. I remember one day this girlfriend of mine at the time, Sarah I think it was, yeah Sarah Preston, dragged me to this psychic fair thing over at the Albert Dock. She was into all that stuff, never believed in it meself. Sarah took us into this mad old bint's tent, Madame Zaora. Reading my palm for a while she 'ad a vision, she told us that I would die in a police jail cell. A dirty, stinkin' cell. Made up my mind there and then to join up, be on the other side and ensure it never 'appens," explained Des.

"So it was more about self preservation than a sense of doing what was right?"

"It just made up me mind for us that's all, I'd been thinkin' about it for a while. Wish you would reconsider my offer you know, Sarge. Got a lot of good things going for us we scousers too. Honest 'ard working and we 'ave produced some of the best music in the known world."

"Really," said Sheelagh indignantly.

"Course, The Beatles, obviously, Merseybeat, Echo and the Bunnymen, even the very sexy Atomic Kitten. Not that the Irish haven't bashed out a few decent tunes over the years though, Thin Lizzy were good, U2. We can forgive you lot for The Nolans y'know."

"I happen to like The Nolans," replied Sheelagh coolly.

"Acquired taste I suppose. I don't mind admitting I'll bop to anything on the dance floor, like a good 'un, when I've 'ad a few inside me," Des replied.

"Does 'Top of the Pops' know you're wasting away in the Met, Des? You could be one of Pans People."

"Mmm, Big Babs, those were the days, don't distract me when im drivin' Sheelagh. Not that I can keep my mind on the job wi' you warming the seat next to me," said Des smoothly. He drove in through the large iron gates of Sun Hill Police Station quite fast and screeched to a halt in one of the spaces.

"That's Sergeant Murphy to you, Constable Taviner now thank you for the lift and enchanting conversation but I have prisoners to book in and I'm sure Reg Hollis is going to want a few words with you," noted Sheelagh sharply. She gathered her things together and grabbed at the door handle only to find it locked. "PC Taviner open this door now!"

"Not until you agree to come out with me. Come to dinner, just once, you can choose the place, anywhere and anythin' you want. Somethin' Irish, like Irish stew. In the name of the law," he laughed, climbing over his seat towards her.

"Des!"

"I'll let ya kiss me Blarney," he replied, drawing closer.

Sheelagh grabbed the gear stick quickly, forming a fist around it, and shoved it into his groin. Des's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets and started to water as the pain hit him and made him retreat back into his seat. Then she yanked the door lock up, opened the door and stepped out.

"I'm a fair woman, Des and like the many I can only be pushed so far. I'm new here and I'm not one for rocking the boat which is why I'm not going to go straight to Inspector Gold and file a sexual harassment charge but I warn you if it persists much longer then I will not be so tolerant. It's about tolerance, what a person can take, how much they can take and for how long a time but it grates, Des, it wears away at you day after day until you can't face another. You can only push my tolerance and loyalty so far you know. Next time it won't be just a charge – I'll castrate ya, meself!" Sheelagh cried harshly. Des was hunched over the seat with his head on the steering wheel once again and not uttering a word. Sheelagh felt a little sorry for him but felt quite shaken up after it and especially by the preceding events, she would doubtless give him a small apology tomorrow morning but for now she lifted her bag onto her shoulder, straightened her coat and marched into the Custody Suite.

"Where've you been? Reg said this little lot's down to you," asked Matt Boyden the minute Sheelagh walked into Custody. The three prisoners had been herded in five minutes earlier and Reg had insisted they wait for her.

"Correct, so lets get the circus started," Sheelagh replied wearily.

"Not just yet. Reg and Des can do the booking in. Where is Des anyway?"

"No idea, I think he's ill."

"I'd better go and check on 'im, Sarge, er, Sarges. He might want another of my magic pills," said Reg.

"I'm not even going to ask. Go on, five minutes," Matt said to Reg. "Oh and Sheelagh CID want a word with you first, probably come up with some ingenious new system for taking all the credit," he indicated with his pen to the door. Sheelagh turned around to see Acting DI Samantha Nixon stride into the room wearing a grey trouser suit and pink shirt that amply covered her small frame. She pushed her short blonde hair back and flashed a grin.

"Sheelagh, good result, I understand you were responsible for catching these three in the act. Lucky you were there, why were you there in the first place? It's hardly one of Sun Hill's leading beauty spots," she asked smiling.

"Thanks Guv, I was in the right place at the right time I suppose. It just so happens I was following up another case in my spare time on a basic hunch more than anything else," explained Sheelagh.

"Well it's good work whatever led you there and I hope you found what you were looking for, I only wish some of my team were as dedicated. Did you recognise Frank Finlay when you first saw him?" Samantha continued.

"Frank Finlay? No I'm sorry, the name doesn't come to mind even now. Who is he? " asked Sheelagh, feeling for a minute like she was back in the Traffic office with Alastair Greig.

"Frank Finlay's a head boy of the old school of villains, record as long as your arm. The numbskull with the nose like a dripping tap's his son, Peter. We don't know who the buyer is as of yet, probably some jumped up twerp from the City, but judging by the amount he's blubbering we won't need the Spanish Inquisition. By midnight we'll probably get everything from his name to his mum's shoe size. Will you sit in on the interviews?" Samantha added with a spark of happiness and enthusiasm in her voice.

"Love to, Guv. Just give me a couple of moments to freshen up," smiled Sheelagh pointing to her dirty face, clothes and hair.

"Ok, interview room five as soon as," nodded Samantha walking back through the double doors. Sheelagh started brushing the dirt off her clothes and walked off in the direction of the toilets just as Matt was booking in the last of the three prisoners.

"You been mud wrestling again?" he joked as she walked past.

"Yes I'm sure you, Des Taviner and all the other males on the relief would love that wouldn't you. For your information tonight I've slipped over, tripped up, nearly been frozen half to death in a hole…" she shouted back.

" Easy, it was just a joke," Matt replied slowly. "So whatever happened to the case of the missing taxi cab then? Nick any little green men while you were playing about the old relics?" He produced the number-plate from behind the desk and propped it up on the top.

" I've just about had it with that thing. I think I've found out how the driver couldn't hear it driving off but as to what devil ran off with it I guess we'll never know. Perhaps I could go back to Dorrell Road in the morning and see if there's anything there but I'm fast losing hope with this one now. Just another stolen car lost in London, another addition to the statistics."

" So? That's what it always was, you complaining just because some toe-rag from Tottenham ran off with it instead of Marvin the Martian?" added Matt.

"I suppose I enjoyed the mystery of it all and now it's unravelled, or at least it's beginning to, it seems less interesting now. Don't get me wrong I'll continue to follow it up until I'm faced with dead ends and who knows what I might turns up, just look at today. I've still got Dorell Road to check out but tomorrows another day," Sheelagh said wearily.

"Yeah, never know you might stumble on a paedophile ring on their holidays next time," Matt smirked but Sheelagh was already out of earshot.


	5. Billy

"Having an easy night, Sarge?" PC Tony Stamp appeared in front of the desk with partner PC Gary Best and a teenage prisoner standing between them with a mournful look on his face.

"Was until just now, 'Allo again, Billy. Don't suppose you're in to volunteer as a special?" said Matt. In front of him stood a teenage boy, about seventeen years old, wearing faded blue jeans, a light blue T- shirt and a grey hooded top with some ridiculous designer logo on.

"No, it's car theft again, Sarge" answered Gary.

"Yes I guessed that thank you, Gary. Young Billy's been hauled up in front of this desk probably more times than I've stood behind it and all of them for car theft. Proper little joyrider aren't we?" Matt said sarcastically. He yanked the boy's hood down from over his head.

"And take that off, you look like a monk!" he added.

"Picked 'im up in Dorrell Road in a grey Corsa doing 50," said Tony.

"Dorrell Road? Don't suppose you know anything about this," Matt asked indicating to the number-plate with his thumb.

"Oh yeah, that's the one Jon 'ad on 'is wall," Billy replied.

"Jon? Jon Whitley, you sure?"

"Who's Jon Whitley?" asked Gary.

"Butch to 'is Sundance for many a year," replied Tony.

"Yeah definitely. I 'ate the thing, it's been on 'is wall for ages. Apparently 'e 'ad a ruck with Tina the other day and she chucked it through the window!" replied Billy.

"Is there a problem, Sarge, only I'd like to get on. We're due on refs soon," asked Tony.

"No, no problem just another line of enquiry that's all. Something Sergeant Murphy's dealing with. Right, name?" continued Matt proceeding to book the prisoner into the station.

Once Billy had been checked in and with Gemma looking after the desk Matt visited him in his cell.

"What do you want now?" asked Billy sharply as the door was opened.

"Just some answers…like how Jon Whitley came by the number plate?" asked Matt coolly.

"Trying to pin somethin' else on me?"

" Anything you tell me will be strictly off the record, just something I'm trying to clear up for a friend. Up to you whether you decide to make it official or not, might even win some brownie points with the judge, remorse and all that."

Billy fixed Matt with a stare, "off the record – no comebacks?"

"You, me and these four walls, Billy."

"Why doesn't your friend come and talk to me then? You after a bit of glory hunting in your old age, Mr Boyden?" he said cheekily.

"Enough of the old. Listen if my friend saw you then everything said would be on tape for the world to hear. Now I'm giving you a chance to clear this up, we can close the case and everybody's 'appy."

"Alright then, as long as it is. Month or so ago Jon clocked this flash bloke by the taxi rank in the centre, outside that Asda's. Tall, nervous lookin' prat 'e was so he decided to do 'im over. No rough stuff like, 'e looked like 'e would fall apart if we shouted 'Boo' anyway. I was in the chip shop queue so 'e 'ad to rush over and pull me out."

" Ronnie and Reggie still alive and well I see," Matt quipped.

" You want me to spill this or what? Ok so we got there just too late, bloody cab showed up, so we decided to follow it and beat 'im up wherever 'e got off."

"Kept up on your bikes then?"

"Nah, we got wheel's now Mr Boyden," Billy snarled. " Jon's uncle gave us 'is old Fiesta when Jon passed 'is test. Anyway we followed the cab up to that old castle thing or some piece of crap, up Traffords Way…"

"That's an old Police Station," Matt corrected him.

"Sorry, a police station then, you see a ruin you think castle don't ya?"

"I suppose you spent time looking for the elephant too," Matt quipped again.

"Don't be stupid, anyway as I was sayin' we got out, looked inside and Jon clocks Frank Finlay so I told 'im to leave it and go back 'ome while we still 'ad our balls in the right place. Once the cabbie headed round the back with some bottles Jon thought it would be cool to nick it, well black cab's a cut above isn't it, he wanted to get at least somethin' out of the evenin' so 'e pinched it and I drove the Fiesta back."

"So what happened to it?" Matt asked.

"Don't know, I met 'im outside The Lord Banbury 'bout half an hour later and 'e was carryin' this plate. Kept it on 'is wall as a sort of trophy I suppose, he was well proud of it, keeps a lot of 'em. One of the things that pisses Tina off, bloke collects a lot of rubbish and I guess she just got tired of it. Don't know what 'appened to the cab, probably dumped it or burnt it out on Canley Common or somethin'. So is that the end of it?" Billy asked wearily.

"Yeah that's about it, you might get a visit from an irate, blonde, Irish Sergeant in the near future though," Matt replied smiling.

"Oh yeah, services have changed 'ere since I was last in then?" Billy grinned. " I still ain't makin' no statement though."

" Didn't expect you to," said Matt, walking out and leaving the door ajar, "Frank Finlay's in the next cell and I expect he caught most of it. Might even want a word sometime," he smiled.

"What! You B…" shouted Billy as Matt closed the hatch and went back to the desk.

The End


End file.
